Cold Night

by kholinar

Always a winter,
she’s velvet on asphalt,
fingertips a-flutter
shutt’ring his eyes.
Blind, he admits
her dark alley jaunts
cordon his thoughts,
parade all his pathways.
On sight of her
streetlight,
his jaws scream out
deafening truths.
Mind like a moth —
her garment stirs hunger,
wings like a moth
she circles again.

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